Just Soda
by TheNightimeSky
Summary: Soda spends a day with his son.


Summary ~ AU: Soda spends a day with his son. (oneshot)

I don't own _The Outsiders_.

* * *

Jean-Paul Fitzroy wasn't his son.

Every Friday night for the past five years, Sodapop Curtis would make the long drive up the highway to Missouri in his '68 Galaxie after cleaning up the apartment, and putting in the booster seat for Jean-Paul – who would always be 'Jack' to Soda, no matter what Maureen said. And all for a kid who would never call him 'Daddy'.

He cruised slowly, turning off at the exit, careful to keep the speed limit – last thing he needed was to bang up his car. Maureen made him sell the Falcon a couple of years back back, when he gained partial custody of the kid. She nearly had a heart attack when he pulled up in it the first time to take Jack away for the weekend.

The seatbelts had been reduced to rope practically, the airbags were defective, and 'what-do-you-mean-there's-no-back-seat-didn't-you-know-the-passenger-seat-is-most-likely-to-get-killed-in-an-accident-what-are-you-thinking?' But the Falcon ran like a dream.

It was his first real car, technically, if you don't count Dad's old truck. Him and Steve had been scraping up _pennies _for that car. It was smooth and about as simple as a car could get. Maureen should know that, he thought, he couldn't remember how many times he took her for a ride in that car. The Falcon just proved you didn't need loads of money for a great car.

"If I ever get a kid," Steve was always fond of saying, "I'm namin' it after that car." Fortunately enough, he had been having little luck with just that, so there was no poor kid named 'Falcon'.

But Soda would've sold his _life _away if it meant seeing Jack – he loved that kid. So he sold the Falcon to put a down payment on the Galaxie. He was still paying it off.

He always felt his stomach churn when he pulled up into the ritzy neighborhood to claim his son.

"J.P!" Maureen's honey-sweet voice tinkled back into the front room of the house when Soda finally got up to the porch. He could hear piano music in the background, as he looked at the sparkling _foyer. _He never went inside the house. It seemed to be an unwritten rule. "Sodapop's here."

She brushed back the bangs on her short, trendy haircut, and smiled politely at Soda, who had shoved his hands into the depths of the pockets of his jacket, biting his lip.

"Coming Mama," Jack's voice grew closer, and Soda grin widened when he recognized that familiar bob of dark-gold hair. "Hi, Soda," he said shyly.

"Hey, buddy. How are you?" he asked, still grinning. Lord, had it really been just a week?

Jack ducked his head down, and mumbled something, clinging to his mother.

"_Tut. _Jean-Paul," Maureen started sternly, "I've told you so many times, don't run in the house." She seemed to take on an accent when she said that, and it sure wasn't from Oklahoma. Soda wondered if you could become French just because your husband was a big-shot from France.

"I'm sorry, Mama." Jackie looked mournfully at his mother, his dark eyes kept flicking back to Soda, as if waiting for him to interfere.

"It's alright, my darling." Maureen smiled, still looking as radiant as ever, and hugged her six year-old son. "Have fun, alright? When you return, you, me, and Daddy will do something fun, _d'accord?" _

He looked sad, letting go of his mother, but followed Soda out the door, nonetheless. It was only until recently that he started doing that. "I love you, Mama. Bye."

Soda swallowed down the annoyance he felt when he heard Jack say that. It was a bitter taste.

-/-\-

"Soda, is Jean a girl's name?"

They had been on the road for about thirty minutes – still a good forty-five minutes away from home – and Jack had been talking non-stop since then.

"No, 'course not," Soda told his son, frowning at him from the rearview mirror. "Who told you that?"

"People at school," Jack answered coolly, wistful as hell. "Billy said I can't have a girlfriend if I have a girl's name. It's a rule."

"What? You gotta have a girl with a guy's name? That it?" Soda retorted defensively. Jack giggled.

"I wish Mama and Daddy would call me Jack." He twiddled his thumbs, a lock of hair turning into his eyes. "That's a boy's name."

Soda felt a surge of pride. "Yeah, I guess. Well, you respect your Mama, you hear me, Jackie? She knows better 'n me."

Jack sighed. "Yes, sir."

Soda drove on.

"Hey, who do you think is gonna win in the next _Rocky _movie? Rocky or Apollo?"

-/-\-

By the time they were in Tulsa, and pulled into the McDonald's, Soda had already promised Jack that he'd take him to three movies, get him two books and a pack of _good _bubblegum, and take him out for ice-cream afterwards. This, along with having Soda beat up his tormentors at school, _and _let him stay up late tonight to watch _M*A*S*H, Scooby-Do, Pink Panther, _and _Happy Days. _

Soda was just waiting for Jack to ask for a puppy – anything was possible with this kid. But he knew he'd say 'yes' even if Jack asked for an airplane. He worked twice as hard, and got half the love that Maureen and _Nicholas _got from Jack, but it didn't matter. Not much.

"What do you want, buddy?" Soda looked down at Jack, who was peering at the menu with a look of such concentration that Soda felt bad breaking his son out of it.

"What are _you _having?" Jack flicked his eyes up to Soda. It still amazed him how much the kid looked like him. Soda grinned.

"I'm getting one of those Big Macs. Nothing better 'n that, right?"

"Right."

"Sir?" The woman behind the counter nodded at Soda, who walked up. She smiled at him, and asked, "Uh, what can I get you?"

He flashed her one of his infamous grins, and he could've sworn she turned a little pink. "Get me one of those Big Mac meals, hon." He turned to Jack.

Jack shuffled his feet, looking shy again. The lady peered over the counter and smiled even brighter at him. "Why, aren't you just the cutest thing. Do you want me to get you a Happy Meal? Just the right size for you."

Jack looked up at Soda. Soda grinned, and pulled Jack closer. After five years, he knew the drill.

"Make that two Big Macs." He pulled out his wallet, drinking in the sight of Jack's grin.

-/-\-

"How can you _not _like chocolate?"

Soda licked his cone, thinking of an answer to Jack's question. "I love chocolate. Well, used to at least." He looked down at his vanilla. "When I got older, I lost my taste for sweet things."

"Oh." Jack looked down at his cup of double-chocolate with sprinkles, DQ style. Soda smiled, and carefully set up Jack's place.

"Hold on, little buddy." Jack waited patiently for Soda to come over. He unfolded the paper napkin and tucked it into Jack's shirt, and placed another one across his lap. "Don't want your clothes dirty." He sat next to his son on that bench in the warm summer evening, draping his arm across Jack's shoulders.

"Mmm." Jack murmured, looking down. Soda turned to look at Jack. A few sun freckles grazed his nose, his skin already a golden tan. Jack took another bite, and Soda swept his hair back, loving the feel of Jack's silky hair through his calloused fingers.

"So, uh … whaddya wanna do tomorrow?" Soda asked Jack. This was a ritual. Every time he asked, Jack would answer "The DX", and it always saved Soda's butt. He needed the extra work, even if he lived alone in a small apartment – there was always something that needed paying.

He dreaded the day when he'd have to explain to Jack that they were going to the DX whether he wanted to or not. But for now he enjoyed it, and that was all Soda could be happy for.

"DX," Jack answered automatically. "Steve and Dave were working on '72 Ford F100, and they said I could take a ride with them if I got back in time for them to take it back."

"Yeah?" Soda answered, feeling a little anxious. When he left work yesterday, Steve had said the car would be done long before the day was out – it was due back today, and Dave was always a hard-ass about getting the work done on time; meant more money for them.

Soda could've kicked himself. He should've _thought _to bring Jack over today – he could've caught those two before they left! Lord, he was dumb sometimes.

"Uh-huh," Jack said, flashing a smile, finishing up his ice-cream, "It's so cool, Soda! There's a bed in the back, and they said I could ride in it!" The little boy squealed happily, chocolate dribbling on his chin.

Soda took the napkin from his jacket pocket, licked it, and gently wiped the chocolate off of his son's face.

-/-\-

Soda was dressed for work, and had just finished tying Jack's laces, when he saw the time. He swore lightly.

"What's wrong?" Jack asked.

"Nothin'. You still hungry? I could make you something else … " He trailed off, looking at the mess of his kitchen.

"Nope!" Jack said enthusiastically, "I can't believe that you were right about the jelly! It was _so _good, Soda. Where'd you learn that?"

He chuckled, brushing back that stubborn lock of hair that always fell in Jack's eyes. "I used to do that all the time when I was younger."

He grinned. "Mama would _never_ let me do that. She'd say it's too much sugar. Daddy wouldn't care though if I told him you let me do it – he always listens to you. Gosh, you're smart, Soda." He laughed.

Soda hugged Jack, "Thanks, little buddy. C'mon, we're gonna be late."

"Did I make you late?" he asked nervously. Soda glanced at the clock. 9:00. His shift started at 8:45.

"No, never, Jackie."

-/-\-

Soda entered the door to the DX, carefully balancing Jack on his shoulders who was wearing his hat. He saw people who were usually around, and waved. He used to be so afraid of being left behind. It was only then did he realize that it was about equal, the number of people who stay and go. And he was just glad he wasn't alone.

"Shorty!" a voice boomed out.

"Dave!" Jack squealed, wiggling to get down from Soda's shoulders. "Let me down, Soda."

"Ooo, taking commands from the munchkin now, I see." Dave nodded to Soda, taking up Jack in _his _arms. "How ya doin' buddy?"

Soda went in to check in.

"You're late."

He turned around, freezing a bit. "I'm so – " It was Steve.

"Lord, man. Give me a heart attack, why don'tcha?" Soda grumbled. "Charlie here?"

"Naw," Steve said, grinning, "You're one lucky sonuvabitch. He ain't here yet. Where's Jack?"

"Wow, ten words, Steve, I'm impressed," Soda said sardonically.

"What you yappin' about Curtis?" He laughed.

"Ten words, and you're already asking for my son."

"Well, we gotta take the Ford back, now don't we?"

"What?" Soda asked sharply. "But – "

"Maybe Arlington won't be too miffed if we take it back right now – hell, he might not even deduct pay. But I dunno … he ain't – "

"Wait!" Soda put a hand up. "_What _about 'This'll be finished today' on _Thursday?_"

Steve cocked a brow. "Well, it needed more work 'n I thought. S'not my fault – I'm not giving back a car that's half done. Sides … " He turned away, as Dave came in with Jack. Soda noticed how much brighter his best friend's smile got. "Now I can give Jack that ride. Inn'it that right, buddy?"

Jack grinned, pushing back his hair. "Yeah!"

-/-\-

"Soda?" Jack asked drowsily from his seat in the back. "Why do I gotta sit back here?"

"Because," Soda said firmly, "You ain't big enough to sit in a chair. I'm not having you hurt, you hear me?"

"Steve says you're the best driver ever. He says you got more skill 'n everybody there combined." Soda laughed to himself – he made a mental note to thank his old buddy for the good word. "Why can't I sit up front?"

"When you're older, Jackie," he said softly.

"Soda, where'd you go to college?"

Soda froze. "Uh, whaddya mean?"

"Daddy says that I play piano for college. Where'd you go? If I went there, maybe people would remember you and be nice to me."

He sighed, feeling a lump in his throat. "I – I didn't go to _college, _Jackie. I dropped outta school to help pay bills. I went back later to get my GED, but that's about it, buddy. Sorry."

"It's alright, Soda." There was a pause. "Mama won't let me get a puppy."

_Well, whaddya know? _"Do you _want _a puppy?"

"Yeah," he whispered. "People always look happier with dogs. I'd want a white and brown one – the one with my name."

"Huh?"

"Jack Russell Terriers. I want one of those."

"Hmm. Well, you gotta prove yourself responsible."

"Would _you _get one for me?" he asked softly.

"Yeah, probably," Soda admitted.

"Thanks." Another few minutes passed. "Soda, if I ask you something, do you promise not to get angry?"

"Why would – never mind. Yeah, what is it?"

Jack sighed heavily. "Are you … my dad?"

Soda inhaled sharply. "You already know the answer to that."

"But my _real _dad. Are you? I asked Daddy, and he got angry – he said of course _he_ was my dad."

Soda closed his eyes, not believing what he was saying. "No, kiddo. I ain't your real daddy." Maybe one day.

"Oh," Jack said finally. The next word broke Soda's heart. "Good. I like you as my friend, Soda – can we be just friends? I think it'd be weird to have two daddies."

"Yeah, kid," Soda whispered, "That's fine. Go to sleep, Jackie. You look exhausted. You'll be home soon."

-/-\-

"J.P. Oh, my baby – how I've missed you," Maureen called out even before Soda stopped the car. Jack jumped out, and ran to the porch, near the column that his mother was standing by.

"Mama!" He laughed, hugging her. Soda walked slowly to the porch, taking in the huge house – Maureen sure had come a long way. And what did _he _have to show for it?

"Did you have fun, darling?" Maureen asked Jack, eyes sparkling.

"Yeah," Jack answered nonchalantly, "Is Daddy home?"

"Inside. He brought you something."

"Yay!" Jack cheered. He turned back quickly, "Oh, wait. Mama." He turned to Soda. "Soda wants to know if I can stay the whole weekend next week – to meet his family, and stuff."

"I'd have him back by Sunday," Soda said quickly, face flushing at the distasteful look on Maureen's face. '_Maureen, you weren't always like this – you were one of us.' _

"Oh … I don't know, darling. That's very far away. Perhaps if you caught up on your French … maybe."

Jack smiled. "Okay. Bye Soda!" He waved casually, before disappearing inside the grand house.

"Doin' a good job raising him, Maureen. I hope you let him come next week – Darry misses him something awful, and Pony sure would like to meet him," Soda explained.

"Oh, Soda," Maureen laughed kindly, ignoring his speech. "What are you going to do next? He may as well be king of the world, the stuff you do for him. Why don't you take him bowling next week, or something? I'm sure he'd like that." She turned on her heel, leaving him outside.

He waited for a couple of minutes for Jack's face to appear in a window, waving a last good-bye. Or for him to come out again and hug him, say 'I love you', and _beg _his mother to let him stay with Soda an entire weekend. But Soda knew it wasn't going to happen.

He reckoned that there would be a day where Maureen would no longer be able to hide it from Jack anymore. Soda was his father, and it was already becoming more obvious day to day. Jack was the spitting image of Soda, Curtis charm and all.

But for now if he had to settle with second best – or even third, fourth, or _fifth _best – he'd take it. It'd have to be enough. There might never be a day when Jean-Paul Fitzroy called him 'Daddy', but Soda knew one thing was for sure:

Jack would always be his son.

**betabetabeta please.**


End file.
